


fast food and five dollar wine

by almostafantasia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 13:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9727958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: Both single on Valentine’s Day, best friends Clarke and Lexa decide to be each other’s date as part of a joke that stops being funny when they wake up next to each other the following morning.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamersdeservebetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamersdeservebetter/gifts).



> Written as part of the Clexa Valentine's Day gift exchange on tumblr.

It turns out to be impossible to find a table in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day without booking.

It turns out that it doesn’t even matter.

* * *

“If only all first dates were as cheap as you.”

The look that Clarke receives in response to her teasing comment is a smouldering glare, accompanied by a single fry that soars through the air and collides with the side of Clarke’s face. On any other occasion, Clarke would grow pale at the thought of having food thrown at her face on a first date, but this is not a typical first date in more ways than one.

The most glaringly obvious difference is that Clarke’s date for the evening is Lexa, who is completely off-limits even if Clarke _was_ interested in ruining the best-friend-slash-roommate thing that they’ve had going for the last couple of years. This is not the usual first date full of nerves and painful smalltalk, this is two incredibly single best friends who have decided to be each other’s date for the evening in a reminder that you don’t need to have a significant other to have fun on Valentine’s Day.

The result is that there is no need to attempt to impress the other – they’ve both already seen each other at their worst – which sees the pair crammed into a tiny booth in a fast food joint peeling back greasy paper to take bites from sloppy burgers.

“So where would you normally go on a first date if not to _In-N-Out_?” Lexa asks with a teasing smile.

Clarke wipes the grease from her mouth with a flimsy paper napkin before shrugging in response.

“Somewhere fancy. Nothing too expensive but…” Clarke pauses and nods her head at Lexa, before continuing, “you know. Nice food, bottle of wine.”

A slow smirk spreads across Lexa’s face, not only tugging at the corners of her mouth but filling her green eyes with a look of mischief that has Clarke both excited and terrified at what Lexa’s next words might be.

“So after this we’re heading across the road to Walmart and picking up a bottle of cheap red for under five dollars?”

Clarke swallows her mouthful of burger and grins across the table at Lexa.

“Like you even have to ask.”

* * *

The wine costs them four dollars and eighty-nine and it tastes like piss but Clarke doesn’t even care. She can’t think of anything she’d rather be doing on Valentine’s Day than sitting on a park bench drinking shitty wine with her best friend.

“Dinner. Wine. What comes next on a Clarke Griffin first date?”

Clarke leans into Lexa’s side, huddling together as a cold gust of wind has them both shivering, then passes across the bottle of wine with her gloved hands.

“Depends how much I like them,” she replies thoughtfully.

“Let’s say the date has gone pretty well,” Lexa prompts her. “You’d like to see them again.”

Clarke pauses, using the silence to accept the bottle from Lexa and to take another swig that is less about the wine and more about buying herself time to consider her answer.

“I’d probably walk them home, give them a goodnight kiss, then maybe send them a text when I get home thanking them for a great night and saying how much I’d like to do it again.” After another brief moment of thought, Clarke smiles to herself and jovially adds, “Maybe I’d put three kisses at the end of the message instead of two.”

“Boooring,” groans Lexa, dragging out the vowels as she snatches the bottle back from Clarke and tips her head back to take a long swig, as if Clarke’s answer to her question is so terrible that it has reduced her to alcoholism. “I thought you had game.”

“I’m single on Valentine’s Day, I can’t have that much game,” Clarke reminds Lexa, though she can’t help but feel a little disgruntled at Lexa’s disapproval of her usual plans for a first date. “What would you do next, Casanova?”

“If the date is going well I wouldn’t want to walk her home just yet because I wouldn’t want the date to end. So maybe we’d go for a drink after dinner and I’d turn on the classic Lexa Woods charm.”

Clarke lets out a little snort, glad that Lexa currently has the wine bottle, for if she had been drinking in that exact moment, there is no doubt that an unattractive fountain of wine would have left her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

“What charm? You’re single too.”

“But I’m on a date with you,” Lexa points out, a little hint of smugness creeping into her voice. “How do you know that wasn’t my plan the whole time?”

Clarke rolls her eyes and lets her elbow dig into Lexa’s ribs, taking a little bit of pleasure in the tiny yelp that Lexa lets out and using the moment to take the bottle from Lexa so that she can take another drink.

“So we’re going to a bar next?” Clarke suggests, changing the subject.

It’s only just gone eight o’clock and they have to do something with the remainder of their night so that they don’t end up spending Valentine’s Day holed up in their respective bedrooms, watching Netflix and binging on snack food. Progressing to a bar seems like as good an option as any other.

“Let’s go to a gay bar,” Lexa agrees decisively, getting to her feet and taking one of Clarke’s hands in her own in an attempt to get Clarke to follow her. She grins wickedly and continues, “Maybe you can get lucky.”

Clarke lets Lexa drag her up to her feet and takes another long swig from the nearly empty bottle of wine. (She spent four dollar and eighty-nine cents on it, you can bet she’s going to get her money’s worth from every last drop.)

“Maybe _you_ can,” Clarke retorts, recoiling at the nasty aftertaste the wine leaves in the back of her mouth.

“Maybe.”

* * *

“Ah, the stench of desperation,” Lexa says, the very second that they step into the bar, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose for dramatic effect.

Clarke just punches her lightly in the upper arm.

“You are such a douche.”

“What?” Lexa shrugs, taking off her jacket and folding it over her arm. “I’m in a lesbian bar on Valentine’s Day. I’m going to hold my hands up and admit that I want to get laid tonight to distract me from how tragically single I am. As does everybody else here.”

“Douche,” Clarke repeats, rolling her eyes.

Raising a single eyebrow in Clarke’s direction, Lexa takes a couple of steps backwards into the bar and asks teasingly, “Are you going to be my wingman or do I have to do it myself?”

“ _Douche_.”

* * *

“So what was wrong with that one?” asks Clarke, when Lexa returns from chatting up a pretty redhead, the third girl she’s hit on in the last hour, and props herself up on her elbows on the bar beside Clarke with a dejected sigh.

“She’s an art history major.”

Clarke gasps, pretending to be affronted.

“Hey, don’t knock art!”

“Art _history_ ,” Lexa corrects. “She’s a pretentious hipster. _So_ not my type.”

Clarke sniggers softly under her breath before flagging down the bartender, ordering another two rum and cokes for them both.

“You’re awfully fussy tonight for somebody who just wants to get laid,” Clarke muses, as the bartender mixes their drinks and slides them across the bar.

Accepting her drink with a mumbled thank you, Lexa downs half of it in a single gulp.

“Maybe I should just sleep with you.”

There’s a moment, just a couple of seconds in which Lexa’s eyes meet Clarke’s, an unreadable expression on her face, and Clarke actually thinks that Lexa might be serious. Two long seconds in which Clarke’s brain is filled with a series of lightning-quick imaginings of just what that would entail – thoughts that are far too inappropriate to be having about her best friend. Two seconds in which Clarke’s cheeks managed to turn from their usual creamy colour to a deep shade of red at the mere suggestion of sleeping with Lexa. Two of the simultaneously worst and _best_ seconds of her life so far, before it all comes crashing down when a wicked grin spreads across Lexa’s face and her head tips back in a peal of laughter.

(Clarke doesn’t know whether the feeling that washes over her as she hears Lexa’s laughter brush off the ridiculousness of the situation is relief, disappointment, or an unsettling combination of the two.)

“At least the walk of shame would be short,” she comments drily.

“Come on,” says Lexa, knocking back the rest of her drink in one go and making to drag Clarke by the hand into the middle of the half-full dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

* * *

Clarke _hates_ alcohol. Or rather, she hates herself under the influence of alcohol. Not just a mild dislike, but a perpetual hatred of the person she becomes after a drink or five. All it takes is for somebody reasonably attractive to catch her eye across a dancefloor and she gets all sorts of ideas in her head that always lead to inevitable regret.

And the thing is that she _always_ knows that it’s going to lead to regret, and yet the alcohol in her system clouds her brain enough to let her go through with it anyway, no matter how many times she has to go through the inevitable morning after.

It’s even worse when the person in question is her best friend.

When the person in question has their hands slung low on Clarke’s hips, dancing away less than a foot from Clarke like there’s nothing wrong, like they didn’t make a joking suggestion just thirty minutes ago that planted the world’s worst idea in her head.

The world’s second worst idea spills from Lexa’s mouth as the DJ gradually transitions into a new song.

“Let’s get another drink. I’m thirsty.”

_Thirsty for you_ , Clarke thinks.

Like she says, Clarke _hates_ herself after a few drinks.

Which is why the logical thing to do is to let Lexa drag her back over to the bar for another, because maybe if she drinks enough, she’ll just black out completely and not have to deal with her own idiotic thoughts.

“You two make such a cute couple,” the bartender tells them as she slides a pair of clear shots across the bar in exchange for the notes that Lexa pulls out of her wallet.

“Thanks,” Lexa replies smugly, slinging an arm around Clarke’s shoulder as she returns her wallet to the pocket of her pants. “Would you believe that tonight is our first date?”

“Not at all,” says the bartender.

Lexa picks up her own shot and pushes the second one in Clarke’s direction, who takes it and clinks it against the one in Lexa’s hand before tipping it down her throat. The liquid burns as it goes down and Clarke winces at the taste, but slams the shot glass back down on the bar with enthusiasm nonetheless.

“Another?” Lexa asks.

_Why the hell not?_

“Sure,” Clarke shrugs.

Lexa flags down the bartender once more and gestures at their empty shot glasses as she asks for two more. As the bartender takes the bottle down from a shelf behind the bar and refills their shots, Lexa leans across the bar, resting her chin on her hand. Clarke knows what’s about to happen before it does and rolls her eyes at her best friend’s antics.

“You know, I’m not tied to her,” Lexa tells the bartender, her voice low in an attempt to be seductive that gets cancelled out by the drunken slur in her voice. She points with her thumb in Clarke’s direction, as if Clarke isn’t standing right beside her in earshot of the entire conversation, and continues, “I’m open to other options. If you get my drift.”

Pushing their refilled shots back across the bar, the bartender quips back, “And I’m not one of those options,” before she moves away to serve another customer.

Lexa lets out a long groan of disappointment, then knocks back her shot without even waiting for Clarke this time.

“Lexa, do you always spend a first date flirting with girls who aren’t the one you’re on a date with?” Clarke teases, swallowing her second shot with less of a grimace than before.

Without moving her head, Lexa shifts her gaze to give Clarke the side eye, an amused little smile threatening to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Only if my date is boring as hell.”

Clarke clasps both hands to her chest in mock offense as if Lexa’s words have pierced and wounded her heart.

“I’m offended!” she pouts dramatically. “I bought you a _burger_. I spent almost five dollars on a bottle of wine for you!”

“You really know how to treat a girl, Griffin,” Lexa grins. She takes Clarke’s hand in her own, lacing together their fingers easily and dragging Clarke away from the bar once more, though this time it is in the direction of the door instead of the dancefloor that thrums with sweaty bodies. “Come on, this place sucks. Let me take you home.”

Clarke almost trips over her feet at Lexa’s words. There’s just something about the way she says them, something about the inflection in her voice that is so incredibly _suggestive_ , and there’s a small part of Clarke that really likes the sound of what she thinks Lexa might be implying.

“Lexa…” Clarke whines. “You can’t say stuff like that, okay?”

“What?” Lexa asks, turning to look at Clarke with a confused expression on her face. “Wait … you thought I meant … oh, Clarke! No! Not like _that_.” Lexa says it as if it’s a ridiculous idea, as if she hasn’t been making suggestive comments all night, as if she hasn’t been dancing obscenely up against Clarke and buying her drinks and holding her hand. “We live together, idiot. I meant let’s go home together because home is the same place for both of us.”

Clarke has never felt like more of an idiot.

“Right, yeah,” she nods dejectedly. “Of course. Sorry, I’ve drunk way too much tonight.”

“But,” Lexa says, raising a single finger from the hand not still entangled with Clarke’s, as if she is about to make a profound statement, a mischievous spark in her green eyes as she backs into the door and pushes it open to lead Clarke out into the chilly night air, “if you’d spent over five dollars on the wine, maybe tonight could have been your lucky night.”

* * *

“Holy fuck!”

The exclamation pulls Clarke out of her slumber as suddenly as having a bucket of ice cold water tipped over her would. She quickly comes to two realisations; one, that she is completely naked, and two, that the cried expletive came from an equally naked Lexa who gapes down at her with an expression of horror mixed with surprise on her face.

Clarke decides that being woken with a bucket of cold water would probably be preferably to having to deal with the consequences of what this means.

“Shit,” she groans softly, tugging at the covers so that they cover enough of her body to be considered modest, though in doing so, she only manages to draw attention to the sheer amount of Lexa’s skin that is on show. “Did we…?”

Clarke can’t finish her sentence. Verbalising it makes it all too real. And she knows the answer already – the memories from last night are beginning to flood back, but not in the right order. She knows _what_ happened (that much is obvious from their state of undress and the sated ache between Clarke’s thighs, she doesn’t need the memories of what Lexa’s tongue feels like against her most sensitive areas as a reminder of that), it’s just the how and the why that are evading her.

“I should go,” Lexa mumbles, clambering off the bed without making eye contact with Clarke and hastily gathering up her clothes from where they are scattered around Clarke’s bedroom. She doesn’t even put them on, just holds them in an untidy bundle in her arms as she disappears through the door without so much as a goodnight.

“Shit,” Clarke repeats, collapsing back onto her mattress with a soft thud.

* * *

The problem with having sex with the person you live with, Clarke quickly realises, is that you can’t pretend that it didn’t happen. Not even for a little bit. Especially not when you both end up eating breakfast at the same time, which is what happens to Clarke and Lexa. Neither one of them retreats back to their own room, because that would mean acknowledging that this situation is awkward as hell, yet neither one of them quite wants to mention what happened. It’s almost like by not talking about it they can pretend that it never happened.

It’s the only thing on Clarke’s mind though, and presumably Lexa’s too, so by not talking about it, they end up not talking about anything at all.

Hence the most awkward breakfast of Clarke’s entire life.

“So,” she attempts to start a conversation, watching as Lexa prods at her plate of eggs without actually eating any of it. “Got any plans today?”

Lexa looks up from her food, one eyebrow arched as if to say _seriously_?

“Fine,” sighs Clarke. “Should we talk about it?”

A flinch of disgust flashes across Lexa’s face as if there is nothing she would rather do less than talk about the fact that she had sex with her best friend. But after a few seconds of thought, she opens her mouth and says, “I’m sorry for running away like that. I freaked out a little.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke assures her. “I understand. But we should probably at least acknowledge that this is a thing that happened.”

“Oh believe me, I’ve acknowledged it.”

Lexa’s words confuse Clarke. Despite being her best friend, Clarke finds herself completely unable to read Lexa at all this morning, as if exposing all of herself physically to Clarke has caused a mental shutdown on their usually easy friendship.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks for clarification.

After a moment of hesitation, Lexa’s mumbled reply is, “Nothing.” She lets out a heavy sigh, letting her fork clatter to the plate of still untouched food, then lifts her head to look Clarke in the eye as she continues wearily, “And this is why I never wanted this to happen between us.”

It takes a few second for Clarke to process Lexa’s words, a few seconds for her to understand the meaning behind them, but when she does, she is possibly even more confused than before.

“What, so you’ve actually thought about the possibility of this happening? About us..” Clarke trails off as she feels a heavy blush rising to her cheekbones, the skin there burning red. She finishes awkwardly, “…you-know-whatting?”

“Fucking?” Lexa finishes for her, shaking her head as a little smile form on her lips that only has the blush on Clarke’s cheeks intensifying. “We’re two attractive queer ladies living under the same roof, I’d be lying if I told you that I hadn’t at least considered making a move on you at some point.”

Clarke’s mouth drops open at Lexa’s confession, suddenly feeling as though she’s seeing an entirely new side of her best friend than she’s been privy to before. Though that seems to be a common theme for the last twenty four hours – first the “date”, then the … then what came after the date. And now this conversation.

Her mouth dry, Clarke asks, “Why didn’t you?”

“I did,” Lexa answers, raising her eyebrows at Clarke. “Remember?”

“I don’t remember much.”

It’s one of the least truthful things that Clarke has ever said. Sure, the previous night is hazy in multiple places, but she remembers in excruciatingly glorious detail what Lexa’s bare skin feels like against hers, what her kisses taste like, what her fingers feel like curling deep within Clarke as she slowly brings her higher and higher, what she sounds like when she falls apart beneath Clarke’s tongue. Clarke remembers all of it, which is feeling an awful lot like both a gift and a huge problem.

“Because it would make things messy,” Lexa answers Clarke’s earlier question with a sigh. “Because it _has_ made things messy. Look at us, we can barely even make eye contact this morning.”

Clarke glances up from her breakfast, only to find Lexa’s green eyes, so familiar and yet so distant this morning, staring right back at her. It’s too much, and as if to prove Lexa’s point, Clarke looks away quickly.

“Then why did you?” she asks quietly, contradicting her previous question.

“Clarke, _both_ of us did this, not just me.”

“I know,” Clarke replies defensively. “I’m just asking why you did.”

Lexa shrugs and picks up her fork once more as a distraction as she answers, “Because I was drunk, and feeling a little bit lonely, and…”

“Geez, _thanks_.”

“Let me finish,” Lexa says, holding up a hand to silence Clarke, who obediently quietens and nods for Lexa to finish. “And because I could do a lot worse than you, a _lot_ worse. Last night was good and I … I guess my brain matched up _a good night_ with _let’s have sex_ and it just happened. I guess it was always going to happen at some point. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”

“Meaning what?”

The look that Lexa sends Clarke’s way, an almost-glare accompanied by the delicate flush that now decorates her cheeks, has Clarke regretting her probing question, but Lexa chooses to answer it anyway before Clarke can tell her to do otherwise.

“You’re … you’re attractive. We get on well and … and you’re not bad to look at. You have _assets_.”

Deciding to rescue Lexa from her embarrassment, Clarke leans forward in her seat a little bit and then asks teasingly, “Are you saying that I’ve got nice tits?”

Lexa doesn’t say anything, but by way of reply she glances down at Clarke’s chest, pulls a face as if deeply considering the question, then looks back at Clarke’s face with a shrug and a teasing smile on her face. Clarke can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. This kind of playful banter is just how they’d normally behave around each other and for just a moment, it’s almost as if nothing has changed.

“I don’t want things to change between us,” Clarke blurts out.

The smile drops off Lexa’s face like a lead weight plummeting to the ground. She frowns at Clarke but there is a hint of sadness in her eyes, the beginnings of a pleading apology that she shouldn’t have to give.

“No,” Clarke says slowly, shaking her head as she realises what she’s just said, as she realises _who_ she’s just said it to. “Forget that, that isn’t what I meant at all. I want _everything_ to change between us.”

Lexa’s expression changes in an instant once more, no longer apologetic but instead confused. And Clarke, unwilling to hesitate for long enough to let herself backtrack again, launches into an explanation.

“Like you said, we’re hot,” she says, gesturing between them. “And what I remember of the sex was…” Clarke blushes as the memories once again swarm her mind, “Well, I’m not entirely sure I can find the words but that’s a _good_ thing. There are no complaints here. Valentine’s Day is commercial bullshit but at its core it’s about spending time with the person you value most and…” Clarke pauses to take a deep breath and looks up to meet Lexa’s intense gaze, “…and last night was a terrible first date in every way but because it was with you it was the best first date I’ve ever been on. And if you agree, I’d like very much if we could try doing it again, only properly this time.”

Lexa nods slowly, her eyebrows knit together in deep thought as she listens to Clarke’s words and processes them. Clarke swallows thickly, internally dying from the confession that seems so right, yet fills her with dread at the thought of Lexa turning her down. Because they could probably come back from the sex – yes, it would be awkward, but it would be easy enough to brush aside as a drunken one night stand – but this, _this_ is the point of no return.

Her expression softening, Lexa tentatively asks, “Clarke Griffin, are you asking me on a second date?”

Clarke momentarily panics, until the solemnity on Lexa’s face cracks into a grin.

“Yeah,” Clarke replies breathlessly. “I guess I am.”

Without saying anything, Lexa slides back her chair and gets to her feet, circling around the table until she is standing next to Clarke. In a single movement, she reaches out with both hands to cup Clarke’s cheek, leaning down for a kiss at the same time as she coaxes Clarke to her feet. They meet halfway, Lexa’s soft lips crashing against her own in a kiss that is every bit as great as her alcohol-addled brain remembers it to be, and then some.

“Is that a yes?” she asks, when Lexa pulls back just enough to tilt her head to the other side to change the angle of the kiss.

“Yes,” Lexa mumbles against Clarke’s mouth. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot. Come, we christened your bed, now it’s time for mine.”

Clarke can’t stop the way that she grins into the kiss, the corners of her mouth pushing at her cheeks even as Lexa continues to plant kisses against her lips.

“If I’d known it would only take a cheap bottle of wine to get you to be mine, I’d have done it so much sooner,” she jokes, letting Lexa drag her towards the closer of their two bedrooms.

“Shhh,” Lexa silences her with a kiss, pulling her inside the room and closing the door, only to push Clarke up against it, wandering hands seeking the warm skin of Clarke’s waist beneath the baggy t-shirt that she wears. “It’s so much more than the wine.”

_Yes_ , Clarke thinks to herself as her head falls back against the door and Lexa’s mouth changes its assault to her exposed neck, _it’s so much more than that_.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any mistakes, I wrote the entire thing in just a couple of days to have it done by today. I hope you enjoyed it, feedback will be much appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
